Counter Culture
by MyLatte
Summary: Chapter 7: This was probably one of the weirdest situations Alfred had even experienced. And he had been through some strange things, but watching your uptight British ex-ruler nation thing get his lip pierced was by far the strangest.
1. Flamenco

Okay, so this is something really short because I have writer's block and I couldn't get past 400 words.  
Anyway, it's kind of going to be about each character and something from their culture.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Hetalia.

**Pairing: **Spain x Romano. Don't like yaoi? Don't read it then.

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**Flamenco**

Antonio reached for the CD player and pressed 'play'. The guitar slowly crept in, and was soon accompanied by castanets and the cajón. He crossed the room slowly, in time with the music, and extended his arm. Soon, he was moving quickly and partway through the dance.

"What the hell are you doing?" Someone interrupted him, and he stopped immediately, spinning around to face them.

"Oh, Lovi~" He answered, grabbing the Italian's arm and pulling him into the room. "Come dance with me!"

Lovino pulled away, and glared at the Spaniard. "No, why would I want to dance, you bastard?"

"Because dancing is fun!" He chuckled. "And this is not just any dancing, it's flamenco!"

"Dancing is dancing," He said, shrugging his shoulders. "It makes you look like an idiot, anyway."

"Don't say that, Lovi~" Antonio brushed his cheek, causing the smaller nation to blush, "You danced the tarantella once, remember?"

"_Sì_, I remember," He muttered, "But that was only because you said it would make me get better!"

"And it did, did it not?" He winked, "Come on, let's dance, Lovi~!" He took Lovino's arm and led him into the middle of the room, much to the younger nation's disgust. He put an arm around his waist and spun him around.

"G-get off me, you asshole!" He tried to break out of Antonio's grasp, but failed in doing so, and was continuously spun around the room.

"You're doing fine," Antonio replied, oblivious to Lovino's attempts to get away. "You could be a natural dancer, Lovi~"

As much as the younger nation wanted to scream and hit Antonio, there was something there that was stopping him. Later, he would tell him that it was the music that calmed him down, and it had nothing to do with dancing, but for the moment, he relaxed slightly, and let himself be spun around.


	2. Sisu

Um, so yeah, chapter two :D

**Summary: **Sisu is a Finnish term for strength, will and perseverance when faced with adversity. Even in something as small as ski jumping.

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**Sisu**

"I'm going to aim to do twelve laps of the field, and six jumps." Tino decided, lacing up his skates on his feet. "Are you going to skate too, or are you just going to watch, Su-san?"

"I'll stay w'th P't'r, he can't sk'te y't." The taller nation replied, ruffling the hat on his son's head.

"Well, okay then, but you should still come and watch," He said hopefully, standing up and skating onto the ice.

"Of c'rse."

Tino started off slowly, skating around the large rink. He loved ice skating, it was so relaxing, and gave him a chance to clear his mind and think about everything, and he was really good at it. But he loved ski jumping more. He truly felt like he was flying when he slid off the end of the ramp.

The air was quite brisk today, and he wrapped his arms around his torso, but skating and not using your arms was quite difficult, and took a lot more concentration. By now he was onto his fourth lap and had built up quite a bit of speed. He decided to cross onto another rink with different terrain. The result of the new terrain though, was that Tino didn't see the small bump in the ice. He hit it was alarming speed, and went sliding across the ground.

"Ow…" He winced, bringing his leg up to his torso and holding onto it.

"Y' okay?" Berwald had come onto the ice, and was looking at the smaller nation. His expression was unreadable, but Tino knew that he was concerned for his wellbeing.

"I'm f-fine," He mumbled, attempting to stand up, but falling back down due to the pain in his calf.

"Y're n't." He said, bending down to look at Tino's leg. "Y're leg has s'me d'mage, d'nt know wh't though."

"I'm o-okay, s-seriously." He tried to stand again, this time succeeding, but limping slightly. "I s-said I'd do tw-twelve laps and s-six jumps,"

"You'll h'rt y'rself m're." Berwald stated, taking hold of Tino's arm, trying to stop him from skating off.

"L-let me finish!" He protested, pulling away and skating to the other side of the rink. It was painful, he had to admit, his calf was throbbing, but he was determined to finish what he had set out to do.

He couldn't skate very fast now, and every time he moved his left leg, a stab of pain would pass through it. It was almost unmanageable, but he wouldn't let himself quit. So he worked through the pain – which as he looked back on, was probably dangerous – but he wanted to keep going. Each lap felt like an eternity, and he wasn't really enjoying it, but he had said he was going to do twelve laps and six jumps, so he would.

An hour later, he had managed to complete them all, but could barely walk as he got off the rink.

"Um…Su-san, could I hold onto your arm?" He asked timidly. The taller man nodded, holding out his arm, and Tino took it, regaining his balance. "_Kiitos_," He mumbled, blushing.


	3. Ballet

Hiiiii! So yeah, I haven't written for ages :D

**This chapter has slight FrUK in it, so don't like, don't read.

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**Ballet**

Francis placed his feet in a 'V' shape, and slowly extended his left leg out behind him, a movement he called _pas de deux. _He held that for a moment, and then leaped, landing on _demi pointe _on his toes.

"What the hell are you doing, Francis?" A harsh voice interrupted him, and he _pirouetted _around to find the source.

"Ah, Arthur! Come to join _moi_?" He answered, walking over to the Englishman and grinning.

"No, why did you get that idea?" Arthur glared at the taller nation. "What were you doing anyway? It was like weird jumps and spins and stuff."

"It is called _ballet, mon cher._" He explained, "It is a beautiful dance style, which comes from _Français, _of course!"

"It looks rigid and strange…" He grumbled, but took a seat on a chair that was sitting against the wall.

"It is your loss, _L'Angleterre._" He shrugged, and then returned to the _barre,_ continuing with his dancing. After a number of turns and leaps, he suddenly stopped and grabbed Arthur's arm, pulling him to standing.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He exclaimed, squirming to get out of Francis's grip, but failing. He had too strong of a hold, and was being pulled into the middle of the room. "Ah, get off me, you wine-face!" He protested as Francis put his arms around his waist.

"Calm down, _amour, _let's just dance for a moment." Francis slowly leant forward, bringing Arthur over slightly too.

"No! I'm not doing this!" He complained, once again attempting to pull out of Francis's hold, but still not able to. "Ah! Watch out – " Francis leant him too far forward and Arthur went stumbling forward.

"Hm…let's try a _tendu,_" He suggested, taking hold of Arthur again. "Now, you slide your foot along the floor, like so," He demonstrated.

"I'm not doing something stupid like that!" The Englishman shook his head.

"Aw, why not?"

"It's idiotic."

"Why?"

"It just is."

"Please?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it's stupid,"

"Come on, please?"

"Fine!" Arthur balled his fists up in frustration, but extended his leg, just like Francis had.

The Frenchman smiled, "_Tres bien! _Now, you slowly lift your leg up, and then leap, like this." He showed him a demo, and watched as Arthur followed. After a few more basic movements, they were prancing around the room, Francis leading.

--

"You should wear these," Francis held up a pair of _pointe _shoes for Arthur. "It'd make it easier for you."

"Really?" Arthur looked at the object disbelieving. The shoes looked odd and he wasn't sure how to put them on. "Okay…I guess…" He took them, and started slipping them onto his feet. They felt awkward and uncomfortable. "How am I supposed to use these?"

"It's like _demi pointe,_" Francis remarked, coming up behind the smaller nation and putting his arms around his waist, trying not to chuckle. "But full _pointe_," He slowly lifted Arthur up so he could balance on the tips of his toes.

Arthur bit his lip, it kind of hurt, but he didn't want to admit that to Francis. "Okay, then what?"

"It's just the same as before, but _en pointe._" The laugh escaped through his lips then, watching Arthur stumbling with the difficult shoes.

"What is it?" He snapped, glaring at Francis.

"Well, _mon cher, _it's usually the women who wear _pointe _shoes."


	4. Lolita

This is kind of really random, and I've kind of got writer's block.

**Light Japan x China, don't like? Don't read!

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**Lolita**

Yao was standing outside Kiku's door, he had just knocked and was awaiting the Japanese male to let him in.

"Come inside, it is unlocked," He called from inside. Yao reached for the handle and pulled it open. He stepped inside and walked into the familiar lounge room. He didn't expect what he found, though.

This was the most awkward moment in all his four-thousand years. Kiku was lying on his stomach on the carpeted floor, flipping through some book. If that position wasn't strange enough, the fact that Kiku was wearing a dress was. It wasn't an average dress either; it was pink, with lots of lace adorning the skirt, making it bounce out. The sleeves were frilly and had little bows attached. He had on lacy gloves and white socks that finished just above his knee, matching his pink heels and his hair was tied with ribbon into two piggy-tails.

The tact and self-control Yao had learnt and built up throughout his life flew out the window at that time, and all he could say while staring was, "What the hell are you wearing-aru?"

Kiku looked up and smiled at his visitor, "Oh, hello, Yao-san, how are you?"

"Er…I'm fine, and you?" He answered, his eyes still fixed on the outfit.

"I'm very well, _arigatou,_"

Yao shook himself out of his daze and took a seat on the floor with the younger nation, "What are you reading-aru?"

"This is a _manga,_" He replied, flipping a page over. Yao noticed that it was like a comic, but in black and white, and seemed to be a lot longer with a lot more detail. "It's very entertaining; would you like to read to?"

"Yeah…um, I will in a second, if you could tell me _why you are wearing a dress!_"

Kiku laughed, "Oh, this? It's called _Lolita,_ and it is very fashionable in my country at the moment." He explained, smoothing down his skirt, something Yao never expected to see.

"I…see…" He muttered. Though he was still completely confused as to why Kiku would dress 'Lolita' as it was for the _female _population, he couldn't help but think that he did look kind of cute. He shook his head to push the thoughts out the way.

"You know, I think gothic Lolita would look good on you," Kiku remarked, standing up suddenly. "I'll go get one for you."

"No…! It's okay!" He exclaimed, making a grab for the Japanese male as he dashed out the room, but failing. Kiku came back several moments later holding a black dress. He held it out for Yao. "No, I'm not wearing it."

"Why not?" He replied, oblivious to the fact that _it was a dress._ "It would look very nice on you."

"But…it's a dress!" He spluttered, "And, I'm a guy!"

"So am I, and I'm wearing one." Kiku shrugged his shoulders. He pushed the dress forward and tried to get Yao to take it, but he jumped out the way and ran around to the other side of the _futon. _

And that continued for a good ten minutes. Kiku trying to pass the outfit, and Yao running away. Yao had just run in from the kitchen, and Kiku had almost caught him. He wasn't watching where he was going, and stumbled backwards, falling onto the futon. Kiku, who had been close to him, didn't have enough time to stop himself, and he fell forward too.

They were lying with each other now, in such a close proximity that Yao could feel Kiku's breath along his neck, and that made him blush. Kiku blinked a few times, before blushing too. They had to do something to break the awkwardness, and unfortunately, Yao knew what it was.

"Fine, I'll wear the dress, but only today."


	5. Yodeling

I'm pretty sure this one is **crack-tastic!  
**I came up with the yodeling idea when I was listening to the preview of Switzerland's Maru Kaite Chikyuu on YouTube, and someone left a comment sayinfg "Vash, we wanna hear you yodel" or something like that.

**Plus, it's really hard to write yodeling.**

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**Yodeling  
**

Vash sat in the chair, arms folded across his chest in annoyance. When Liechtenstein had asked to visit Elizabeta, he hadn't realized that _Roderich _would be there. The two of them sat facing each other in opposite seats. Vash looked over to his sister, who seemed to be having a fine time with the Hungarian. They were giggling about something, but Elizabeta seemed to have that look on her face that appeared only when she was planning something. Vash knew he should be wary, but it was nice to see Liechtenstein enjoying herself. He looked away from his sister, and over to the other side of the room. Roderich was watching him, so he glared back.

"Ah, brother!" Liechtenstein spoke up, walking over to the blonde. "Could you answer something for me?"

"Um…yeah?" He answered, eyeing the brunette who was smirking from her seat.

"Can you yodel?"

Vash did a double-take. "Wh-what?" He spluttered, looking at his sister in disbelief. She was just looking at him, expectantly and not realizing how strange the question was.

"Oh…I just asked if you could yodel." She said again.

He looked over at Roderich, who seemed to be holding in a laugh, and Elizabeta was giving an encouraging look to the younger girl. He glared at both of them, and tried to compose himself. "Yes, I can, and so can he," He pointed to the Austrian.

"Only because you taught me," Roderich mumbled back.

"Oh, that's awesome, brother!" Liechtenstein answered, smiling. "Could you show me?"

"No."

"Aw…" She said, dejected. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm not yodeling."

"Please…?"

"No way," And for the next twenty minutes, that's how the conversation went. Liechtenstein begging her brother, and Elizabeta trying to get Roderich to do it. By the end, Vash's patience was wearing thin.

"Okay! Fine! I'll do it, but Roderich has to do it too!" He sighed, slamming his fists down on the table.

"Oh, yay! Brother, thank you!" Liechtenstein exclaimed, giving her brother a hug, making him blush. He looked over to Roderich, who looked almost embarrassed, and started counting in.

"_Eins, zwei, drei…_" He started, and after about four counts, Roderich joined. He felt kind of extremely stupid, but he closed his eyes and bore it. He slowly finished as his voice became hoarse and he couldn't sing any further. He opened his eyes, and sat back down.

"There, you happy?" He scoffed, looking away from his sister.

"That's was the best!" She cheered, clapping her hands.

"Oh…um…thanks," He muttered. "I don't do that often,"

"You used to yodel to yourself all the time when we were younger," Roderich interjected, "You're the one who taught me." At that comment, Vash shot the Austrian a look that seemed to say, _mention that again, and I'll pull out my revolver._

"By the way," Elizabeta spoke up, sensing the negative vibes coming from the two. "I invited Gilbert around; I think he's here now." She stood up and opened the front door, and much to the chagrin of Vash _and _Roderich, the silver-haired man was standing there, and so was Ludwig…and Feliciano.

"That was the coolest noise ever!" He remarked, striding into the room and taking a seat next to the Austrian. "Do it again!"

"No," Roderich refused. "Not while you're here."

Gilbert stuck out his tongue, "Anyway, I invited West too, he was bored at home."

"Then Feliciano came with me." The German added, looking down at the Italian.

"Ve~ Lovino said he wanted to come too!" Feliciano enthused. "He's just outside, with Antonio, because wherever Lovi goes, Antonio goes!"

"I only came because I didn't want my brother to be alone with that _potato-bastard_," The older brother shot back as he walked into the room. "Then stupid Francis caught wind of it and invited himself," He scowled at said Frenchman.

"Ah, of course I wanted to come, _mes amours_," The blonde remarked, "Then Arthur heard about me coming, and just had to follow."

"Like hell I did!" Arthur grimaced, "I just thought I should probably say hello to Roderich and Elizabeta, as I haven't seem them in a while. Then _Alfred, _being the nosy nation he is, asked where we were going and came too,"

Alfred nudged Arthur in the ribs, making the shorted nation ball his fists up, "Y'all just wanted the hero here anyway!" He cheered. "Anyway, can we hear you yodel?!" He enthused, grinning wildly.

"No,"

"When hell freezes over," Vash stated adamantly. He looked at all the nations standing around the two of them, and felt almost glad that he was going to let them down…but it was Liechtenstein's face that made him change his mind. He hated it when she pouted, something she had learnt from Elizabeta, of course. He glanced over at Roderich, who sighed and nodded.

A huge grin spread over Gilbert's face when he heart Roderich hitting the high notes, oh, he would never let him live this down…but it was kind of cool. And catchy. Not as much as himself though, "Go, Rod!" He cheered, pumping his fist in the air and attracting a few strange looks from the surrounding nations. "What?" He asked them, "It's awesome!" He began clapping his hands to the beat of the song, and soon, all the other nations had joined.

Roderich opened an eye to look at the blonde next to him, and for the first time in centuries, they smiled at each other.


	6. Hockey

This one kind of really sucks, I'm sorry! I couldn't work any pairings into it D:

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**Hockey**

"Why are you taking me to this stupid game, Mattie?" Alfred whined as his brother led him to their seats in the stadium.

"Hockey is not _stupid_," Matthew hissed back, "Plus, you made me come to one of your 'football' games." He justified.

"But football is _awesome,_"

"And so is hockey." With that, their conversation was abruptly finished. "Oh, look, the teams are coming onto the ice now," Matthew pointed to where several players were skating onto the rink, sticks in their hands. He looked over to his brother, who had his arms crossed over his chest and was deliberately _not _looking. "Come on, Al, don't be like that."

"I don't care," He pouted.

"Fine," Matthew shrugged his shoulders, attempting a new tactic, "It doesn't bother me, and I'm going to enjoy it anyway."

"Go ahead," Alfred replied. He was determined not to watch, football was always the best sport, and he wouldn't let hockey get in the way of that. He still hadn't turned to watch when the siren signaling the beginning of the match sounded. Not when the crowd erupted into cheers when the first goal was scored. Not even when a player skidded and fell across the ice.

He did turn around though, when he heard his brother yelling.

"Oh, my God! That was the worst fucking pass I've ever seen, eh?" Alfred immediately looked around, and saw Matthew standing up and banging his fist against the glass. "I'm sure I could do better!"

"Mattie!" He exclaimed, looking at his brother in alarm. "What are you doing?" Matthew was too wrapped up in the game to notice him, though. He was still yelling, and didn't seem to have realized that the game had halted and one of the players had skated up to the other side of the glass.

"I'm sick of spectators always abusing us!" The player shouted at Matthew. "It happens every game! You think you're better? Then you come and play!"

"Maybe I will," He yelled back. Alfred watched in almost-horror as his brother ran around to where the barrier got lower and jumped over the top. He grabbed the other player's skates and hockey stick and skated across the ice.

The whole stadium was silent, watching when Alfred broke it, "Matthew Williams! What are you doing?!" He screamed at him. Alfred knew the boundaries and restrictions of being a nation, and casting yourself into the public eye like this was something that was to be avoided. "Get back here!" But it was really to no avail. Didn't stop him from trying though, and for the rest of the game, he attempted to get his brother back onto the sidelines.

He had to admit though; Matthew was pretty good at hockey. Hell, he was better than all the professionals out there. And for a split second, Alfred was almost…_jealous. _Why could Mattie be so good at something, and he not? He should be awesome enough to be, right? If it had been any other situation, he would have said something, but the current location was not ideal for that.

The most awkward part of it, though, was sitting there, listening to everyone screaming at your brother and calling him all sorts of…unsavoury names. Being a hero and everything, Alfred wanted to jump up and defend his brother. And he did just that.

"Stop being so horrible!" He yelled in the face of someone behind him. "It's not his fault!"

"I came to see a hockey game, not watch some crazy wannabe dominate the field!" The guy screamed back.

"If you haven't noticed, he's better than those players," Alfred shot back, balling his fists up. He was getting angry now.

"I paid to see _those _players, not that dickhead down there." He sneered.

"Oh, fuck you," And he punched him. The guy stumbled backwards a few steps and then fell over onto the bleachers. Alfred stared for a moment, and then his eyes widened. "Shit!" He turned and sprinted down the steps and jumped over the barrier, running (and slipping) onto the ice. All the spectators' attention was on him now.

"Al...?" Matthew stopped skating and looked at his brother, confused and worried. "What are you doing?"

"Mattie, we're going…now!" He grabbed his brother's arm and they ran off the field.

"What…? Where?!" The Canadian exclaimed, trying to pull off the skates at the same time as he was running. It wasn't easy.

"I'll explain later, we just need to get out of here." They ran out of the stadium, and jumped into Matthew's car. As they pulled out, Alfred sighed. "Thank God."

"What did you _do_?" Matthew asked, rolling his eyes.

"Not me, you." He answered, chuckling albeit hysterically. "But I punched a guy."

He shook his head, "What? Why?"

"Well, maybe if you hadn't been such an idiot and started playing, then maybe I wouldn't have had to defend you," He glared at his brother, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh, my God, did I really do that?" He banged his head against the dashboard. "Actually, that was kind of stupid of me,"

"Yeah, I'll agree." Alfred smiled slightly. "You were pretty good though,"

"I just kind of lost it, I should know better than that." He continued.

"You'll have tons of media attention now, you know that, right?" Alfred remarked. "And heaps of endorsements. Oh, Arthur's not going to be happy."

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**I don't think Arthur would be happy because he probably will be like "Oh, Matthew, you should know better. I expected more," etc. :D**


	7. Punk

Crack, crack, and more crack.

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**Punk**

This was probably one of the weirdest situations Alfred had even experienced. And he had been through some strange things, but watching your uptight British ex-ruler nation thing get his lip pierced was by far the strangest. Seeing anyone get their lip pierced was strange enough, but it was Arthur, Arthur for heaven's sake!

Lip piercing was a lot commoner these days, he frequently saw people with lots of piercings (Arthur actually being one of them, he had several up his ear and on his tongue, too.), and he had wondered why it had suddenly come into fashion. Twenty years ago, that would have been unheard of. Arthur had attempted to explain it to him, he said it was something called punk, and it was for non-conformists who believed in freedom and individualism. Alfred had just said that it was an excuse for the Englishman to wear make-up and do crazy stuff with his hair, to which Arthur had said he wasn't smart enough to embrace and accept other people's ideas.

So to prove Arthur wrong, he had decided to come and watch him get his lip pierced.

"Is that hurting?" He asked, watching with morbid fascination through splayed fingers, yet wincing in pain at the same time. Arthur shot him a glare through black-rimmed eyes, saying _"I can't talk at the moment, you bloody git," _Alfred rolled his eyes and got back to staring at the little piece of metal being inserted into his lip. He couldn't imagine getting that done himself. It looked too painful. "Looks good, Iggy," He gave a thumbs up once it had finished.

"You're an idiot," He answered, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Does it hurt?" He attempted once again, scrutinizing the little shiny lip-ring. He wasn't bleeding, but still…

"If I got my _tongue _pierced, I doubt that my lip would hurt," Arthur bit back.

As much as it pained Alfred to admit it, Arthur looked kind of…cool. Very different from his usual attire. He was donning a pair of shiny black…erm skintight pants, accentuating his good…figure (yes, that word would have to do,). His shirt was just about midriff and had tears along the sides. God knows what had caused them (Alfred didn't particularly want to know himself), and he had on these hi-top sneakers, very much like his own Converse. And his face, his face was a different story altogether. Besides the numerous piercings, he had this black stuff on his lips and around his eyes, making them appear larger and greener, and the tips of his blonde hair were now coloured red.

"Do you think it would hurt if I kissed you?" He suggested, winking at Arthur.

"Huh?" Arthur took a step backwards, "Wh-what are you t-talking about?" He glared at Alfred, but he was confused at the question. Alfred didn't want…did he? But he certainly didn't…?

"Well, I'm just wondering if you think the piercing would hurt if I kissed you?" He shrugged his shoulders and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"A-and why do y-you think I would w-want to kiss _you?_" He stuttered, starting to blush. This was…awkward.

"We-ll," He made the word into two syllables, "I know you've kissed Francis before, and I want you to know that I'm a much better kisser than him."

"Oh, really?" Arthur raised an eyebrow, "And how do you know that?"

"A hero is always a fantastic kisser," He smirked, "He has to be, so he can kiss the damsel in distress. In this situation, that happens to be you."

"I am not a damsel in distress," Arthur sneered, "I am not in distress, for one thing, and I'm not a girl, either."

"You're wearing make-up."

"That's beside the point," He shook his head, "Plus, I'm a better kisser than both of you,"

"Care to test that theory?" Alfred cocked his head to the side, grinning. Arthur seemed to contemplate for a moment, before nodding and pressing his lips hard onto the American's.


End file.
